What's it like to know her? Well...

"You're going to have to talk to Imogen," Colin mentions as I rouse myself from my couch.
"Why is that?"
"She called at about 5 'o clock this morning and woke me up. If she does that again I'm gonna fly to BC and beat her." Colin's a surly man. It could be a legitimate threat.
I consider this odd.
So, I check my voicemail. And this is what Sarah Turpin has to say:

Paul. I'm drunk. I'm drunk, and it's...2 'o clock in the morning, which means you shouldn't be answering your phone anyway, and I'm glad that you're not, but at the same time, the woman that's in charge of your answering machine message stresses me out so bad. She makes me feel like I need to know what I'm talking about, and (unidentifiable word) let's face it, sometimes I can't remember that I'm calling you, sometimes I think that I'm calling someone else, and this woman makes me feel bad about that. I feel like she's judging me-mmhmm (note: I've never heard her make this noise before this message)-I feel like she's judging me for even calling you in the first place, like, 'who the fuck calls Paul Warford?' And on a second level, 'who the fuck calls Paul Warford so drunk?' And on a third level, and I don't even know if she knows that she's implying this, 'who the fuck calls Paul Warford so drunk at such a ridiculous hour at night?' No one. Probably just me. Oh! Oh. And I'm mad at you now because you're not answering your phone and that's completely... ...ordinarily that's completely acceptable, but not right now because I'm drunk. On top of this I was talking to your mom-uh huh (never really heard her make this noise either)-I was, and, um, she likes me better than you. Goodnight.

She's a catch, this one is. Wouldn't trade her for all of the sapphires in Africa.
Are there sapphires in Africa? How much are they worth?
Maybe I would trade her...
She has, in the past, been less eloquent than this on my voicemail.

[edit]: my mother has not seen this post.
But she is a frightening woman.
Ask anyone.
For fear of her, I took out a golden portion of this message that Turpin utters vagrantly at the end.
She commands respect, my mother. From everyone.
Like a mafia don.